


Fools

by Titch360



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 19:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9286997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Titch360/pseuds/Titch360
Summary: The best-laid plans of Bats and men, oft go awry.  Rated T for an instance of suggestive material and general, if heartfelt, hooliganism.  (I hate coming up with these summaries.)





	

Fools

 

“Good morning, Master Wayne.”

The ice in Alfred’s tone set Bruce on edge.  _Uh oh.  For him to sound that pissed off this early in the morning can only mean one thing.  What did the boys do now?_

“Good morning, Alfred.  What did they do this time?”

Alfred walked over to the refrigerator as he said, “I have a question regarding your dinner tonight, Master Bruce.  I informed the boys yesterday that I would be making chicken tonight.  They seemed rather pleased by the menu.  So, my question is this…”  Alfred reached into the ice box and pulled out a bright yellow rubber chicken.  The toy squeaked softly as he tossed it onto the counter.  It slid to a stop next to Bruce’s coffee cup.  “How would you like that prepared?”

Bruce couldn’t keep the smile off of his face as he said, “Alfred, you know I enjoy everything you cook, but I think that will come out a little chewy.”

Alfred shook his head and leaned forward on the counter.  “While I am glad that, despite everything your sons have been through, they still retain a sense of humor, I feel I must give you my yearly reminder to inform the boys that April Fools jokes are to be kept out of the kitchen, and away from me.  I do not find them particularly amusing.”

Bruce nodded, “I’ll remind them, Alfred.”

“What is that?” Damian asked from the kitchen door.

“A shot across the bow, Master Damian.”  Alfred pointed at the boy and said sternly, “Do not follow in your brother’s footsteps.”

Alfred left the kitchen in a huff as Damian took a stool next to Bruce.  “Father?”

“You’re up early, Damian,” Bruce said, squeezing his son in a one-armed hug.

Damian nodded, “I had hoped you could take me to school early today, since it’s on your way to work.”

Bruce smirked at his son, “Over your spring break already?”

“That was last week, Father.  I have way too much to do this week to get caught up.”

The man turned to regard the teen at his side, “Caught up?  I thought you worked all last week to get ahead of your school work?”

Damian sighed, “I did, and I still don’t think it will be enough.  I’m ashamed to say this, but the work is becoming more…challenging.  I’m not able to stay ahead of it, at least, not the way I was able to earlier in the school year.”

Bruce was concerned to hear Damian say this.  “You’re still keeping up.  I talk to your guidance counselor weekly.  He says he’s very impressed with your work.”

“I don’t want to keep up, I want to get ahead,” Damian grumbled.

Bruce shook his head, “Son, you’re pushing yourself too hard.  You need to slow down a bit.”

“I’m just trying to stay ahead of my upcoming nervous breakdown, Father,” Damian said with a smirk that failed to cover just how truthfully he felt that statement.

Bruce sighed and gripped Damian’s shoulder, “Do you want to go back to the regular classes?  I won’t be disappointed if you say yes.  You’ve put an awful lot on your shoulders.  There is no reason to continue if it’s going to hurt you.”

Damian looked like he was seriously considering the proposal.  “I’ve already completed all of the junior year work, and most of the senior year work.  I don’t think I _can_ go back to regular classes at this point.  How did Drake do this?  This is much harder than I thought it would be.”

“He didn’t patrol nearly as much as you do.  He was also two years older when he started this experiment.”

Damian glanced up at his father and said quietly, “Don’t let this get back to him, but I have a new level of respect for Drake now.”

Bruce patted Damian’s back as he got up.  “Let me get changed and I’ll run you down to school.”

Damian followed Bruce out of the kitchen and asked, “Father, what’s with the toy?”

Bruce smiled, “Alfred’s making chicken for dinner.”

Damian looked nonplussed.  “…Maybe I’ll just have a big lunch at school today.  What did he mean by his comment?”

“Saturday is the first.”

“I’m aware of that.”

Bruce didn’t think the boy really was.  “ _April_ first, Damian.  Also known as…”

Damian’s eyes widened as he grabbed Bruce’s wrist.  “Oh, no.  Not this again, Father.  Keep him away from me; I have too much school work to do this week to deal with Grayson’s distractions.  I have to write a paper for my English class and complete a project for my Physics class.”

Bruce sounded interested, “What do you have to write about?”

Damian still looked panicked, enough so that he didn’t recognize Bruce’s attempt to distract him.  “The allegorical significance of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein.  Of course, to do that, I first have to _read_ Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein.  Father, may I move back up to the third floor until Sunday?”

“You may not.  I’ll talk to Dick about toning it down, but to be honest, the rubber chicken is more Jason’s style.”

Damian paled hearing that news, “Father, they’ll torment me!  Please, make it stop!”

Bruce held up his hands, trying to calm his son.  “I’ll talk to them, but you know your brothers.”

Damian slumped down onto Bruce’s bed as Bruce walked into his closet to get dressed.  “Yeah, I know my brothers,” he said softly, “I’m doomed.”

_Tuesday Morning…_

Dick yawned and stretched as he got up to walk down to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.  He hadn’t really slept well last night, and he needed the pick-me-up.  As it turned out, Dick didn’t need to walk down to the kitchen for his pick-me-up.  He pulled his bedroom door open, only to have the bucket of ice water that was positioned precariously on the top of the door splash down on his head.  His startled shout had the effect of waking most of the residents of the second floor.

Damian stuck his head out of his door, looking around for the source of the shout.  Seeing his sopping elder, his face paled and he quickly pulled his head back into his room and slammed the door, fearing what might be coming for him.

Jason walked into the hall and laughed.  “You’re supposed to dry off after you get out of the shower, Big Bird.”

“So, it begins, Little Wing?” Dick asked with a smile.  “At least I’m not the only one who got theirs this morning.  You need to be a little more careful when you shave, Jay.”

Jason’s smile fled from his face, “What do you mean?”

Jason ran back into his room and checked his face in the mirror.  He gasped loudly as he saw his left eyebrow was missing.  “What the hell, Dick?”

Dick giggled, leaning against his brother’s door frame.  “Wasn’t me, Jay.”

“Demon?”

Dick shook his head.  “I doubt it.  Bruce said Damian wanted to stay as far away from the pranks as possible.  He even asked if he could lock himself up on the third floor until the jokes were over.”

Jason gave an evil smirk, “Right, so Replacement is on the block now.  This will be fun.”

The brothers walked down to breakfast, where they were met with a glare from Bruce.  “I thought I told you to tone it down yesterday?”

Dick smirked, remembering the notification he had received.  “You mean the inter-office memo?  We’re not doing anything at work.  We’re just having a little fun.”

“Keep it away from Alfred,” Bruce demanded.  “Even that little prank with the rubber chicken was enough to earn me a tongue-lashing yesterday.  He doesn’t like pranks any more than Damian does; you _know_ that.  He told me yesterday that he’s having a hard time in school right now.  Don’t do anything stupid.”

“You know we don’t take our Bat-pranks too far,” Dick said.

Jason grew a large grin and said, “Trust us, Bruce.”

Bruce shook his head and said, “Go get cleaned up, before Alfred sees you dripping on his floors.”

Jason nudged Dick when they were halfway up the stairs and raised an eyebrow.  “Bat-pranks?”

“What better way to keep them away from Alfred,” Dick said evilly.

“I hope you know what you’re in for, Dickiebird.”

_Wednesday Morning…_

“Help!  Help!!”

Damian rubbed sleep out of his eyes as he hurried across the hall.  “Stop yelling, Drake.  What’s…oh.”

Damian walked into Tim’s room in response to his cries for assistance, and had a very hard time keeping a straight face when he saw the state of his older brother.  “Problem, Drake?”

Tim sighed, “Will you just cut me loose already?  I have to pee.”

Damian smiled and sat in the chair at Tim’s desk.  “Really?”

Tim’s eyes widened as the youth sat down.  “Please, Damian.  I don’t know how they bubble-wrapped me to the bed without waking me up, but I’m in pretty tight here.”

Smiling again, Damian stood, crossed the room, and dove onto the bed.  A loud, rapid-fire series of pops met the boy’s landing, and despite himself, he smiled broadly.  Looking over at his trapped brother, Damian said, “I like this one.  Finally, they came up with a decent trick.”

Tim was all but shaking, “Come on, Damian.  Please, cut me out of here.”

“Oh, alright.”

The boy rolled off of the bed, another series of pops heralding his departure.  He returned a minute later with a sword, which he held over Tim like he was preparing to cut the man in half.

Damian pulled the sword up in the beginning of a chopping blow when Tim exclaimed, “Wait!”

“What,” Damian asked, sword held high.

“Just cut the plastic.”

“Spoilsport,” Damian mumbled as he sliced around his brother carefully.  As soon as he was free, Tim jumped up and ran for the bathroom, while Damian shook his head and left the room.

Tim found Damian in the kitchen, eating breakfast.  He smiled as the youth looked up at him.  “Thank you, Damian.  I’m glad to see that you are taking these pranks well.”

Damian sounded confused when he said, “Just so long as you all leave me out of it, I’m fine with them.”

Bruce walked in and did a double take when he saw Damian.  “Um, son?  I hate to point this out, because it’s just another way of showing that you’re growing up, but you need a shave.”

Damian looked at Bruce strangely, “What are you talking about, Father?”  Tim giggled as Damian felt his cheeks.  Smooth skin met his fingers.  “I don’t need a shave.  Maybe in a week or so, but not now.”

Bruce smiled softly, took out his phone, and took a picture of Damian’s confused face.  Damian’s eyes widened as Bruce showed him the picture of his own face, with a dark black beard.  “Is that some sort of image filter, Father?”

“Sorry, son.”

Damian ran from the kitchen to the downstairs bathroom.  An echoing cry of “What the hell!” worked its way down the hall, followed by the sound of the faucet running.

Bruce shrugged and turned to Tim, saying, “I hope they didn’t use…”

“It’s not coming off!” cut off Bruce’s wish loudly.

“…Permanent marker,” Bruce concluded.

Tim sighed, “Should I go hide his swords?”

Bruce shook his head, “He has too many, you’d never find them all in time.”

Dick and Jason walked into the kitchen, satisfied smiles on their faces.  Dick nudged Tim and said, “What are you doing here?  You were all ready for shipping.”

Tim’s face paled even as he smiled, “What were you going to do, mail me to work?”

“It crossed my mind,” Dick smiled.  “You wouldn’t have been damaged in transit.”

Bruce turned to Jason and asked, “Can I assume that you are responsible for this morning’s other prank?”

Jason smiled broadly, “Where is Blackbeard the Robin?”

Bruce sighed, “Trying to wash it off.  Did you have to use permanent marker?”

Jason shrugged, “It was the only marker he had that matched his hair color.”

Tim’s eyes widened dramatically, “You touched his art supplies?  I know you’ve only lived here for, like, six months or so, but you should know by now, never touch his art supplies.”

Jason scoffed as he poured himself a cup of coffee, “What’s he going to do?”

Damian returned to the kitchen, false beard just as prominent as it had been earlier, shirt soaked from his frantic attempts to clean his face, eyes blazing, head jerking spastically between the room’s occupants as he tried to determine the culprit.

“Who did this,” he growled demandingly.

All eyes turned to Jason as the man smirked, “Makes you look more refined, Short Stuff.”

Damian walked slowly to the kitchen island before pulling a butcher knife from the block.  “I’ll kill you!” he shouted as he lunged at Jason.

“Master Damian!  You will calm yourself this instant!”

Alfred’s mad voice, two steps beyond firm, and half a step harsher than Batman’s normal tone, echoed through the kitchen.  It was the only tone in the known universe that could have stopped a rampaging Wayne in that moment.  The entire room froze as Alfred stepped between Jason and Damian and took the knife from the teen.

“There will be no murders in my kitchen.  Is that understood?”

“Yes, Pennyworth,” Damian replied in a cowed tone.

“You will go up to your bedroom and await me in your bathroom.  I will be up presently to assist you,” Alfred said in a much kinder tone.

“Yes, Pennyworth,” Damian said softly, walking out of the kitchen with his head bowed.

Alfred called after him, “Remove that wet shirt, before you catch a cold.”

Alfred turned on Jason, pointing the confiscated knife at the man.  For as much as Jason knew that Alfred would never stab him, he still flinched back cautiously.  “As for you, I believe that you are aware that Master Damian finds these pranks as entertaining as I do.  That is to say, he does not.  What have my rules always been regarding your pranks and jokes in this house?  So long as no one is hurt, you may continue.  Did Master Damian look unhurt to you?”

“Short Stuff is always going to act hurt when things don’t go his way,” Jason tried to defend himself.

“Because he doesn’t understand, Jason,” Bruce said quietly.  “High stress situations revert him back to the assassin training mindset.  We’ve been trying to break him of that for three years, but it’s like trying to erase brainwashing.  He’ll get better, but it’s going to take a while.”

“It’s just a joke,” Jason said lamely.

Bruce sighed, “To us.  Not to him.  Not yet.  He did ask to be left out of your pranks this year.”

Dick smiled, “But we don’t want to leave him out.  He’s family; he needs to participate in the family fun.”

“It’s not fun to him,” Alfred said, walking out of the kitchen.

The butler walked into the youth’s room without knocking.  Damian had left the door open, knowing Alfred would be following soon.  Damian looked at the butler’s reflection in the mirror and sighed.

“Will this be able to come off, Pennyworth,” he asked in a small voice.

Alfred gave a compassionate smile, “Yes, dear boy.  It will not be a pleasant process, and it will take a while, but I can guarantee that you will be smooth-cheeked again.”

Damian looked down again, “Um…thank you, Pennyworth.  I would have stabbed Todd if it weren’t for you.”

Alfred nodded, “Yes, I believe you would have.  Come, let’s get this unpleasantness over with.”

Damian hopped up and sat on the counter while Alfred inspected the teen’s face.  “This may not be the right time to point this out, Master Damian, but with the shape of your face, you actually will look good with some facial hair.  At least, in a few years, when you can grow the real thing, you will.”

Damian rolled his eyes, “Something to look forward to.  I’m assuming it won’t take that long to get this off my face?”

“I’ll make a concerted effort, Master Damian,” Alfred said with a smile.

Four hours later, and after missing half the day, Damian was dropped off at school, his cheeks still red and raw from hours of scrubbing.  Alfred had the foresight to call Dr. Thompkins and have her fax a note to the school, stating Damian had an appointment that morning, and to excuse his absence.  As a way to get back at his brother, Damian waited until the last passing period of the day, called the Wayne Tower security desk, knowing that Jason normally drew front desk duty in the afternoon, and blew a whistle as loud as he could into the phone when Jason answered.  It wasn’t exactly the most innovative prank the boy could have pulled, but it did make him feel better.

_Thursday Morning…_

Bustling through the house, Alfred was planning his day as he went to wake Damian for school.  _It’s a little early, but I must make a dent in these chores.  Master Damian surely won’t begrudge me half an hour of sleep._

Alfred reached the boy’s door, and was surprised to find it locked.  _He doesn’t normally lock his door at night.  Oh, he must have taken precautions against the mad pranksters._

Knocking gently, Alfred said, “Master Damian?  It is time to rise.  I’m sorry to wake you early, but I have several chores to accomplish today, and I must get an early start.”

“I’m awake,” filtered softly through the door.

Alfred smiled gently, “Very good.  Please get dressed, your breakfast will be ready shortly.”

“…I’m not going to school today.”

Alfred was shocked by the utterance, “I’m sorry, I must have misheard you.”

“I said, I’m not going,” Damian replied.

“Master Damian, I do not have the time for this today.  You complained about missing half a day of school yesterday.  Why, then, do you suddenly not want to go today?”

It was quiet for half a minute before Damian nearly sobbed, “I can’t.”

Alfred began to get concerned at the youth’s tone of voice.  “Please open this door, young sir.”

“…No.”

“Did something happen?”

“…Yes.”

“Then, please open the door, so I may assess the situation.”

Another short silence was followed by, “I’m not coming out of here, Pennyworth.”

“Master Damian, neither of us have the time for this delay.  Open this door.”

“…No,” Damian said, with a tone that definitely sounded watery to Alfred.

“Very well.  You leave me no choice, young sir.  You are not the only person in this conversation who can pick a lock.  Either you open this door, or I will.”

There was no response, and Alfred sighed, “Very well, you leave me no choice.  I shall be back shortly, with a lock pick.”

Alfred turned and walked away, but only made it a couple steps before he heard the lock click.  He turned back as the door opened and he saw Damian shuffle out of the room with his head bowed.  _His clean-shaven head._

Alfred gasped and covered his mouth with a hand as the newly revealed flesh glinted dully in the diffuse light of the hallway.  There was nothing funny about the situation, yet Alfred found he was having a hard time not laughing.

“I can’t go to school like this, Pennyworth,” Damian mumbled, looking at the floor sadly.

“Master Damian, where is your hair?”

Damian turned, still not looking up, and pointed into his room.  Alfred approached and looked in the direction of the finger.  Damian’s pillow was covered in discarded black locks.

“Do you know who did this,” the butler asked compassionately.

Damian nodded.  He walked over to his desk, sniffling, and sat in his chair.  “I thought they might try something again, so I set up a security camera over my door.”

Damian hit play, and a black and white image showed Dick, Jason, and Tim stalking up to the bed.  Damian started awake, and struggled as Tim held his shoulders while Jason held a rag over the boy’s mouth and nose.  After several seconds, Damian stilled and went limp in Tim’s grasp.

“Is that…” Alfred asked.

“Chloroform,” Damian said, holding up a rag he had found in his trash can.  “I don’t remember that happening, by the way.”

The video continued with Tim poking Damian’s cheek with a finger, to make sure that he was out.  Then, Tim and Jason held Damian up while Dick pulled out a set of clippers and made quick work of the youth’s head.  Tim laid the boy back down while Jason arranged the hair around Damian’s head.

Damian stopped the playback and said, “I didn’t feel too good when I woke up this morning.  Now, I know why.  When I sat up and my hair didn’t go with me, I thought I was deathly ill.  While I’m glad that I’m not, I still have other things to contend with.  How can I go to school like this?  The Warrington School doesn’t allow students to wear hats.”

Alfred shook his head, “Never the less, you must go.  You are close to graduation; you cannot afford to miss any extra time now.”

“I know,” Damian said sadly.

Alfred thought for a second, “This does explain why your brothers left early this morning.”

Damian snorted, “Yeah, they value their lives, and know they went too far.”

The day turned out truly horrible for the youngest Wayne.  Normally, he tried to go unnoticed at school.  Today, that wasn’t an option.  From the name-calling in the hallway, to the girl in his math class who complained that she couldn’t sit behind him because the fluorescent lights were reflecting off of his head and into her eyes, Damian thought the day couldn’t get any worse.

He was wrong.

As he all but ran from the building at the end of the day, he spotted Tim’s gray BMW parked behind Alfred’s black Mercedes.  All three of his older brothers were leaning against the car, wearing sunglasses and shading their eyes as he approached.  Damian glared harshly as he hurried past them.

Jason reached out and grabbed Damian’s arm, saying, “Hey, is that all you have to say to—AAAH!”

Damian turned, knocking Jason’s hand from his arm, and lashed out, kicking his older brother in the groin as hard as he could.  Jason slumped to the ground, moaning and clutching at himself as he rolled on the sidewalk in pain.  Damian turned on his heel and stalked to Alfred’s car, getting in the back without speaking a word.

The butler drove away from the school as if he had seen nothing out of the ordinary happen.  Damian spoke softly as they reached a stop sign.  “Are you going to pick up Father from work today, Pennyworth?”

“I am, young sir.”

Damian sniffed and said, “Can we do that now?  I…I want to see Father.”

Alfred regarded the sad-looking boy in the rearview mirror.  “Of course, young sir.  I take it that today didn’t go well?”

Damian took a deep breath, “No, Pennyworth, it didn’t.  They made fun of me.  They called me names.  They…someone asked what kind of cancer I had, and if they could go to my funeral.  Who says that to someone?”

Alfred caught the youth’s eye in the mirror and gave a wink.  “Did taking your frustrations out on your brother help?”

Damian gave a half grin, “It didn’t hurt.  At least, not me.”

Arriving at Bruce’s office, Jean gave a gasp as Damian walked off of the elevator.  “Oh, Damian.  What happened, dear?”

Damian sighed, “Grayson happened.”

Jean shook her head, “Unfortunately, that explains everything.”

“May I see Father,” Damian asked in a small voice.

Jean nodded, “Go on, dear.  He doesn’t have another meeting for an hour yet.”  She picked up the phone that was ringing on her desk, “Bruce Wayne’s office…I’m sorry, he’s in a meeting.  Can I take a message?”  She waved the boy towards the office door as she wrote out the message.

Bruce looked up from the report he was reading as his office door opened slowly.  His son walked into the room nervously; at least, he thought it was his son.  His jaw dropped as Damian came closer.

“Oh my god, they ‘Lex Luthor-ed’ you.”

Damian winced, coming to a stop next to the desk.  “Thank you, Father.  I was called a lot of names today, but no one thought up that one.  Leave it to family to come up with something new.”

Surprising Bruce, Damian crawled into his lap and sniffled as the full extent of his day hit him.  “You aren’t even going to ask what happened,” the boy asked softly.

Damian laid his head on Bruce’s chest as the man said, “I think I have a pretty good idea of what happened.  I take it that it wasn’t a good day?”

“They made fun of me,” Damian said, trying not to cry.

“Who?”

“Everyone.  Everyone at school.  They said my head was too bright to look at.  They called me a cancer patient.  They asked if I had lice.  Someone rubbed my head and said it was for good luck.  Why didn’t you let me move to Alaska?  This wouldn’t have happened then.”

Bruce sighed as he held his son.  The bald head felt weird against his cheek.  “You know why you couldn’t move there.  Did anything else happen?”

“Yes,” Damian said, close to tears, “Your sons showed up after school, wearing sunglasses and holding up their hands to block out the glare.”

“Your brothers?”

Damian shook his head, not looking up.  He said quietly, “No.  Not anymore.  I hate them.”

“No, you don’t,” Bruce said gently with a sigh.

“I do,” Damian replied stubbornly.

Bruce kissed the shorn head lightly, “You aren’t too happy with them right now, but you don’t hate them.  In fact, you aren’t even that mad at them.  This will all blow over once your hair starts growing back.”

Damian sniffled again, turning to bury his face in Bruce’s jacket.  “I know,” he whispered.

_Later…_

“Where’s Mr. Clean?” Jason asked as he sat down at the dinner table.

“In his room,” Bruce said, trying not to smile at the name.

“Sulking?”

“Studying.  He has a Physics project to finish by tomorrow morning.  Alfred granted him a reprieve from dinner tonight.”

Jason nodded as Dick joined them at the table.  “How mad at us is he,” the eldest asked.

“I wouldn’t be dropping hints for birthday presents around him for a while.  Not, at least, if it were for something you actually wanted him to get for you.”

“He’s going to get back at us, isn’t he,” Dick asked nervously.

Bruce snorted, “Are you sure you want that?  I know you remember what happened the last time you forced his hand.”

Dick paled as Jason asked curiously, “What did he do?”

Dick shook his head, “Last time, Tim and I were the ones who ended up bald.  He led us through a scavenger hunt that made me believe he had been kidnapped and the house had been invaded.”

Jason scoffed, but was wondering about the activities, “How convincing could it have been?”

“Pretty convincing,” Tim said, having taken his seat for dinner while Dick was talking.  He looked around and asked, “Want me to go get Damian?  I think I would feel safer if we had eyes on him, if Dick is talking about his last turn at payback.”

“Alfred is keeping track of him,” Bruce said, “He asked to be left out of your pranks for a reason, you know.”

At exactly seven o’clock, Damian walked into the dining room from the kitchen, carrying plates.  Dick’s, Jason’s, and Tim’s jaws all dropped as the teen placed meals in front of everyone at the table, before giving an evil smirk and saying, “Enjoy your dinner.”

The boy walked calmly out of the dining room as his older brothers eyed the food warily.  They didn’t know that Damian was waiting in the hall, listening for their reactions.  Alfred had been ready to serve the meal when Damian snuck into the kitchen and hatched his plan.  Nothing had been done to the food.  The only thing Damian had done was carry the plates into the dining room and make his paranoid brothers’ minds work overtime.

“I don’t think I’m hungry anymore,” Dick said, pushing his plate away.  Tim and Jason followed suit, looking like they expected the lasagna to explode in their faces at any second.

Bruce shrugged, “Suit yourselves.  It’s delicious, though.”

“He wouldn’t poison you,” Tim said quietly.

“He wouldn’t poison you, either,” Bruce replied.

Dick took a deep breath and said, “Maybe not, but he is well aware of the uses of Ex-Lax.”

In the hallway, Damian was biting his lip to keep from laughing and revealing his location.  Feeling better than he had all day, Damian waited another minute before walking back into the dining room.  He took the fork from Dick’s stunned fingers and took a big bite of his elder brother’s dinner.  Tim smirked, understanding what Damian had done, and pulled his plate back to eat.

Bruce watched as Damian turned to leave again, and asked his youngest, “Aren’t you letting them off a little easy?”

Damian shrugged, “They’re patrolling tonight.  They need to eat.”

Damian walked out of the dining room, but stopped when he was one step into the hall.  He called over his shoulder, “Besides, I never said I was done with them.”

Damian continued walking away, and gave a snort of laughter when he heard Tim call out from the dining room, “Oh, waiter?  There’s a hair in my food!”

“It’s not one of mine,” Damian called back, mounting the stairs.

_Friday Morning…_

“Bruce, I need the keys to your truck.”

Bruce looked up from his cup of coffee as Jason walked into the kitchen.  “What’s wrong with your truck?”

“I…I can’t take it today.”

“What’s wrong with it,” Bruce repeated.

Jason sighed, “Your little brat chained it to a tree.”

Bruce nearly shot hot coffee through his nose as he snorted and exclaimed, “What?”

“He chained it to a tree.  I don’t have the time to saw through the chain or chop down the tree, so can I borrow the truck?”

Bruce smiled, rising to walk out of the room with his son.  “You know, if you parked in the garage, this wouldn’t be a problem.”

Jason wasn’t happy with the way Bruce was smiling right now.  “Yeah…well.  You know, I damn near ripped off the rear axle trying to drive away, before I saw the chain.”

Halfway to the garage, they ran into Tim.  “Oh, hey, Bruce.  I need to borrow a car.”

Jason smirked and nudged Bruce.  “Are you sure this wouldn’t have happened if I parked in the garage?”

Bruce ignored the jape, and addressed Tim, “What happened to your car?”

“The car is fine,” Tim said, pointing to the gray BMW, which was currently sitting on jack stands.  “The wheels are, a bit…missing.”

“Where are they?”

Tim stared at Bruce.  “Bruce,” he deadpanned, “If I knew that, I wouldn’t be asking to borrow a car.”

Bruce sighed, like he was making a great sacrifice as he pulled two sets of keys from a storage locker.  Tim nudged Jason and asked, “What did he do to your truck?”

“Chained it to a tree.”

Tim laughed as Bruce threw each of them a set of keys.  Jason looked curiously at what he caught.  “Hey, these aren’t the keys to the truck.”

Bruce stared at him evenly and said, “You know, Damian thought you might try some prank on him, so he set up a camera in his room.  He showed me the video of what you did.  I didn’t believe him, at first, when he described it as an assault, until I saw the video.  I think, at the very least, you shouldn’t have your choice of vehicle as a punishment.  I could make you call a taxi, you know.  Maybe you should also look into some way to make it up to him.”

Jason shook his head, “Hey, I didn’t get all butt-hurt when Replacement here shaved off my eyebrow.”

“You also aren’t in high school.  They made him cry, Jason.  He went from being ignored to being the object of ridicule overnight, thanks to what you three did to him.  He’s a thirteen year old senior; he’s already the odd man out.  Your little bit of fun didn’t help anything.”

Bruce began walking back into the house, leaving his sons standing in the garage, thinking.  Tim called out before Bruce disappeared into the manor, “Wait!  Are you at least going to tell us which cars these keys go to?”

“Nope,” Bruce called out, the door to the house closing behind him.

Bruce walked back to the kitchen, where he found a distraught-looking Dick sitting at the breakfast counter.  “What’s wrong, chum?”

Dick jumped at the sound of Bruce’s voice.  “Oh…hi.”

“Are you okay?”

Dick sighed, “I guess so.  It’s just…I guess I got what was coming to me.  Have you seen Damian?”

Bruce nodded, “Alfred took him to school.  He seemed to think today would be better for him.  He spends Friday mornings with his guidance counselor and Friday afternoons alone in independent study, so he thought he wouldn’t be the butt of so many jokes today.  What did he do to you?”

Dick looked up sheepishly.  “An old camp prank involving a bowl of warm water…and my hand.”

Bruce’s eyes widened, “You mean, he made you…”

“I haven’t wet the bed since I was four, Bruce,” Dick interrupted softly, “It’s not a good feeling.”

Bruce nodded, “So, he was able to embarrass you, in your room, where your pranks should stay?”

Dick looked up strangely, “You know, you’ve never taken sides in the April Fool’s Day pranks before.”

“None of your pranks have ever made anyone cry before.  For Damian, of all your brothers, to be that affected by something you did, I think there must be a reason.”

Despite his feelings, Dick gave a smile, “I love seeing you two so close now.  I’m happy that he finally goes to you first with problems”

“He’s a good kid, Dick, just like all of you are.”

_Later…_

Damian flinched as his partially closed door was pushed open.  _Why didn’t I close my door all the way?  The first is tomorrow, I’m not safe yet._

“Hi, Damian.”

Damian relaxed slightly as Tim walked into the room, but only slightly.  Out of all of his brothers, Tim was the least likely to try to prank him so openly.

“Drake, what do you want?”

Tim reached into a rear pocket, causing Damian to gasp.  Tim pulled out a knit cap and held it up in front of himself.  “I remember the two times I was bald.  My head never got used to being cold, so I brought you this.”  Damian looked at the hat warily, and Tim nodded.  “I understand.  We haven’t exactly been trustworthy lately.”

Tim placed the warm hat on the boy’s head, while Damian tried desperately not to flinch and wince.  When it appeared that nothing had happened to his head, other than the temperature of his scalp rising a degree or two, Damian said softly, “Th-thank you, Drake.”

Tim gave a small smile.  “Listen, what we did was mean, but what you did at dinner last night, that was awesome.  I’m kind of surprised that you would leave it at that, though.  Well, that and last night’s pranks.  Speaking of that, though, can I have my wheels back, please?”

Damian smirked, “They’re with the key to the lock holding the chain to Todd’s truck.”

Tim nodded, “Oh, okay.”  He started to leave the room, then turned back and asked, “Where is that?”

The smirk grew, and Damian said, “With my comb and hair gel.  I won’t be needing those two items for a while.  I figure you and Todd can be inconvenienced for a while longer, too.”

Tim matched the smirk, “So, you’re throwing your hat in to the pranks, then?  I thought you were done?”

“Tomorrow is the first, who says I’m done?”

“I did, remember?”

Bruce’s voice sounded loudly from the doorway, causing Damian to flinch.  Tim turned and caught the stern look on Bruce’s face.  He sounded concerned when he asked, “What’s wrong, Bruce?”

Bruce walked over to stand next to Tim, looking down at the seated Damian ominously.  “In his zeal to hatch the perfect revenge for the prank played on him, Damian failed to finish his Physics project, which was due today.  Since this is his first missed assignment, I was able to talk his teacher and guidance counselor into an extension.  He has until midnight tonight to email the completed assignment to both his teacher and counselor, and he isn’t allowed out of his room until Alfred and I confirm that he has completed and submitted the project.  This will not happen again, young man, will it?”

“No, sir,” Damian said quietly, looking down, his shoulders slumped.

Tim was shocked.  He had never heard Damian call anyone ‘sir’ before.  “So, he can’t leave his room for anything?”

Bruce shook his head, “Not until I’m sure this won’t be a problem in the future.”

“You’ve never denied any of us a meal before,” Tim said softly.

Bruce looked over, “He’ll be fed.  Alfred will bring his dinner up, and he can eat right here.”

“Bruce, it’s just one assignment,” Tim said, sticking up for the miserable-looking youth.

“It’s not just one assignment, Tim.  Our agreement was that he keep up with his work, and he didn’t do that.  His counselor gave him his final set of work packets today, so there is no going back now.  He has to finish now, or the school will invalidate half of the work he’s done this year, and make him take senior year over in regular classes.”

Tim looked surprised, “There’s still, what, two months of school left?  How many packets did they give you?”

“Thirty,” Damian said quietly.

“And since you’re off patrol this weekend, as punishment for not doing your work on time, you have plenty of time to make a dent in the stack,” Bruce said.

“Yes, sir,” Damian said morosely, turning back to his desk.

Bruce turned to Tim and said, “Why don’t you head down to dinner, Tim.  I want to check over his progress.”

In the dining room, Dick called Tim on his pensive mood.  “What’s wrong, Little Timmy?”

“Bruce is not in a mood to be messed with tonight.  He’s got Damian confined to his room for the weekend for missing an assignment.”

Dick gasped, “How did he do that?  He’s been working so hard.”

Tim looked down, “It’s our fault.  He planned payback against us, instead of completing his project.”

Dick opened his mouth to reply, but shut it with a snap when Bruce walked into the dining room and took his place at the table.  The tension quickly thickened in the room as Alfred brought in their plates.

Alfred looked around the room, holding a fifth plate after the four at the table had been served, and inquired, “Master Damian?”

“…Is exactly where I told you he would be.  He knows what he did wrong.”

Alfred gave a small sigh, “I see.  I shall just take his dinner upstairs, then.”

Following a silent dinner, Bruce went to his study while Dick followed Alfred upstairs.  Damian had finished his dinner and changed into his pajamas.

“I finished my project, if you want to check it over, Pennyworth.”

“Have you sent it yet, young sir?”

“No,” Damian shook his head, “Father said he wanted both you and him to check it over first.”

Alfred leaned over the boy’s laptop, skimming over the work as Dick beckoned Damian over.  “Come with me.”

Damian looked hesitant, “I…I don’t think I should.”

Dick looked surprised, “You don’t think you should come out to the hall to give me a hug?”

“I don’t think I should leave my room.”

Dick turned to see Bruce standing in the doorway after following Damian’s gaze over his shoulder.  “I think you’re right,” Bruce said, “Alfred, is it done?”

“The work appears complete, sir.”

Bruce nodded and looked over the work on the computer screen.  “Will it pass?”

“If it were my class, it would,” Alfred nodded.

Bruce nodded back and turned to Damian, “Send it.”

Several keystrokes later, Damian looked up and said, “Done, Father.”

Bruce regarded his youngest and said, “You understand why I’m doing this, right?”

“Yes, sir,” Damian said softly, staring at the floor again.

“Get started on your packets.  I’ll check in on you when I get home from patrol.  Remember, I want two of them completed this weekend.”

_April Fools’ Day…_

Tension was still thick around the house on the morning of April first, but Bruce still expected the pranks to fly.  However, he was disappointed, until the boys were getting ready for patrol.  Bruce sat to the side of the cave and watched as the various pranks, which he knew his boys had to have set up, were uncovered.

“Oh, come on!”

Bruce smirked as Jason was the first one to complain.  Jason threw his helmet at Tim and snapped, “Fix that!”

Dick smirked and laughed while he asked, “What did you do, Timmy?”

Tim tossed the helmet to Dick, who could hear faint Mariachi music coming from the speakers in the headgear.

“Ole!” Dick said as he threw the helmet back to Jason.  “Why don’t you just change the channel?”

“I can’t,” Jason grumbled, “I tried, but _he_ ,” Jason stabbed a finger at Tim, “changed out the receiver to one that only gets one station.”

Dick shrugged, “Well, then, wear your other helmet.”

Jason shot a withering gaze at Dick and threw his second helmet at Dick.  “Not until _you_ fix _that_.”

Dick caught the helmet easily, and smiled at the fluorescent pink paint job the formerly red helmet was sporting.  “I don’t know, Jay.  I think it brightens up your wardrobe.  It’s kinda…festive.”

Dick tossed the helmet back and turned to finish dressing for patrol.  Just a mask away from being Nightwing, Dick opened a drawer to retrieve his eskrima sticks, and his jaw dropped.

“What the hell is this,” Dick asked, his tone disbelieving, but with a laugh.

Instead of his usual weapons, Dick pulled two black, fifteen inch long dildos from the drawer.  Tim gave a bright smile as Dick looked up in shock.

“Hey,” Tim said, laughing, “Now you can be Nightwing _and_ a Dick at the same time.”

Dick shook his head slowly, “Where did you even get something like this?”

Jason looked over innocently and said, “From your nightstand.  Didn’t you notice they were missing?”

Dick glared at the supposition, then laughed.  Tim asked curiously, “Why are you laughing?”

“These are even heavier than my regular sticks.  They might just make a good weapon.”

Tim shook his head before opening the locker to retrieve his uniform.  Stopping short, he turned and said, “ _Very_ funny, you two.”

He reached into the locker and pulled out a hanger, with a very distinctive pair of scaly green shorts hanging from it.

Dick and Jason smirked.  Dick said, “We won’t have a Robin tonight, and those are a tradition that you have shirked for far too long.”

“I don’t see you trying to shove Damian into the traditional uniform panties,” Tim grumbled.

“Go on, Replacement,” Jason said with a smile, “You know you want to.  They’re just your size.”

Tim would only admit to himself that he had occasionally thought about the older version of the Robin costume, just to see the tactical differences between the scaly green shorts and his chosen Robin uniform.

Tim next pulled out his staff, which had been replaced with two cardboard wrapping paper tubes, which had been taped together and spray-painted black.  “Okay, what’s the joke with this one?”

Dick shook his head, “No joke.  I think it’s funny enough on its own.”

The jokes ended when the Bat-phone rang on the other side of the cave, and Bruce switched to his Batman voice.  A minute later, Bruce showed up in the locker room to see a pink hooded vigilante, Dick with dicks, and a Red Robin that was more Robin than Red.  He would have laughed if there wasn’t work to do.

“Playtime’s over.”

“What is it, Bruce,” Dick said seriously.

“That was the Commissioner.  The Riddler has taken hostages in a downtown warehouse.”

“What does he want,” Tim asked.

“Me,” Bruce said.  “If Batman doesn’t show up by midnight, he starts killing hostages.”

Jason looked at the digital clock over the door and said, “Midnight?  It’s only nine now.  What are we doing for the other three hours?”

Bruce glared at his second son, “We aren’t waiting around to see if a madman changes his mind about killing hostages.”

“Should we get Robin,” Dick asked.

Bruce shook his head, “Do you think the four of us can’t handle the Riddler?  If it was the Joker, I would say yes, but the Riddler and his plot aren’t big enough to cancel his punishment.  Finish getting dressed, we leave in ten minutes.”

There was a general melee as the boys rushed to undo their pranks and get dressed.  Unfortunately, there wasn’t enough time to fix the radio in Jason’s helmet, or to remove the pink paint, so he had to wear the painted helmet.  Tim’s regular staff was nowhere to be found, so he was forced to take back the collapsible staff that Damian had appropriated from him a year before.  Dick’s regular eskrima sticks were also missing, so he opted to do without for the evening.

Nine and a half minutes later, the vigilantes were piling into the Batmobile when Tim stopped and gasped.

“What,” Dick asked.

Tim pointed to a shadowy corner of the cave.  “There are my tires.”

“What?” Bruce asked.

“The tires to my car.  How did Damian get them through the house and down here, unnoticed?”

Dick smirked, “The Robin works in mysterious ways.  Get in, Red.  Let’s go.”

The Batmobile parked in a dark alley a block away from their targeted warehouse.

“This is the place,” Red Hood said, looking through a dirty window.

Batman glanced through the window and noticed a dozen hostages, all tied and seated around some sort of vat with a bubbling, brown liquid inside.  The hostages all had bags over their heads, and appeared to be tied to the vat.

Batman nodded, “Okay, let’s get this over with.  We’re not taking any chances tonight.  I’ll go in, and I want you three to stick to the edges of the room and find the Riddler.  You get him, and I’ll get the hostages.  Watch out for traps; we all know how the Riddler works.”

The four vigilantes slipped into the warehouse, sticking to the shadows.  Nightwing sniffed at the air and hissed, “Is that supposed to be a vat of boiling oil?  What kind of oil is that?  It smells good.”

“Some sort of vegetable oil, I think,” Red Robin replied quietly.

“Let’s make sure that they don’t become French fried hostages,” Batman said.  His partners stared at him in awe at the joke that slipped out from under the cowl.  “Go, find him.”

Nightwing and the Reds flanked off to search the warehouse.  As soon as they were gone, a bright spotlight framed Batman in a beam of illumination.  “Welcome, Batman.  It’s about time you took my threats seriously.”

Batman activated his radio and quickly said, “Find him.”  Switching it off again, he called out, “Make this easier on yourself; let the hostages go.”

A cackle filled the warehouse.  “Um…I’m thinking no.  I’d rather see what sort of lame rescue plan you and the lackeys came up with.  Just know, though, when you fail to stop me, and you _will_ fail, those hostages are just one button press away from a rather hot end.  So, please, enact your plan.”

Nightwing prowled down a narrow walkway, one ear listening to the conversation between Batman and the Riddler.  _That’s not his voice,_ Nightwing thought, _at least, not a live voice.  It sounds more like it’s coming over a loudspeaker.  He might not even be in the building._

Cocking his head with a grin, Nightwing spotted a nearly invisible tripwire strung across the end of the walkway.  _Still, though, even if he isn’t here, he set this building up to trap us.  Maybe the traps can tell us something about his actual location?_

Nightwing stepped gently over the tripwire, only to have the wood plank under his foot creak as he put his weight on it.  A soft click sounded, and Nightwing only had an instant to realize he had activated a pressure plate under the floorboard before a metal arm swung out of the wall.  A whipped cream pie, balanced delicately on the end of the arm, caught Nightwing in the face, as a voice sounded softly from a hidden speaker, saying, “I’m not here, Bird Boy.”  Before Nightwing could react, the floor opened under Nightwing’s feet, sending him falling into a chute.

_Meanwhile…_

Red Hood grumbled to himself as he climbed to a third floor catwalk.  _What is the meaning of all of this?  Why does this feel like a set up?  This isn’t some corny spy movie.  Who uses a vat of boiling oil as a torture technique anymore?  This is all just a little too convenient, if you ask me._

Hood came to the end of the catwalk and dropped down a level.  Instantly, his skin started to crawl.  _Why is it ten degrees colder on this level than on the one above?_   He walked forward slowly, until he saw an air conditioning vent blowing in his direction.  Little streamers of tinsel were tied to the grate, and were standing out in the breeze.  Shaking his head, Hood turned and saw a bucket at the end of the hallway.  He approached and saw that it was filled with rubber snakes and spiders.  He grinned, thinking, _I’m glad those are fake.  I hate snakes._

A voice whispered from a hidden speaker in the ceiling, above Hood’s head, “It’s too late for you.”

Startled, Hood took a step forward, and hit a tripwire.  An air cannon, set in the bottom of the bucket, launched the fake creepy crawlies at the vigilante.  Knowing there were fake, Red Hood let them bounce off of him harmlessly.

Except, they didn’t.

Grabbing one, Hood found that it stuck to his glove.  _Glue?  The Riddler covered these toys in glue_.  He took a look at the bucket and found the inside coated in a thick layer of the sticky substance.  Red Hood tried brushing the offending toys off of his jacket and helmet, but found that they didn’t come off as easily as he thought they would.

A whispered voice came again from the hidden speaker, saying, “I’m not here, Pink Hoody.”

Red Hood looked up again as the floor fell out from under his feet, and he fell into a chute.

_Meanwhile…_

Red Robin walked down a wide, well-lit corridor, with the hair on the back of his neck standing up.  _This can’t be right.  The rest of the place is barely lit, but there are more lights in this one hall than in the rest of the building…for good reason._

Red looked ahead, and could see a man dressed all in green at the end of the corridor.  _Sorry, Riddler, but you made this way too easy._

Haste quickened his step, seeing his target, and knowing he hadn’t been spotted himself.  He rushed forward, until he slammed into a mirrored wall.  _Ouch,_ he thought, _what the hell?_

Red looked around and found himself in a carnival-style hall of mirrors.  _Great, just what I need, a maze._

Red Robin slowed down to a safer pace, walking with his hands held out in front of him, to prevent what just happened from happening again.  Remembering something Dick had once told him about funhouses years ago, Red watched the floor.  There was always a bit of space between the mirrors and the floor, it was just how the mirrors were constructed.  If he followed the space at the bottom of the mirrors, it would lead him through safely, without running the risk of going face-first into another mirror.

Several minutes later, Red Robin found his way through and found that the Riddler hadn’t moved.  Red was mad at the wasted time.  _Sorry, Riddler, but you have this coming._

Seeing the path ahead clear, Red sprinted along the straight line between himself and the criminal, and tackled the man, in a move that would have made Dick Butkus proud.  The criminal seemed unnaturally stiff in the young vigilante’s grasp, and he found that he had tackled a mannequin.  Rising with frustration etched on his face, Red noticed that the green of the Riddler’s suit had been transferred to his normally red uniform.  Red grimaced, thinking _paint.  Bright, fluorescent green paint.  What the hell is going on?_

He didn’t get a chance to ponder the query, as a water balloon filled with the same green paint broke over his head with a thick splat.  As he was wiping the paint out of his face, a voice whispered to him from a hidden overhead speaker, “I’m not here, Restaurant.”

Red Robin looked up as the floor opened up under his feet, and he fell into a chute.

Seconds apart, all three vigilantes found themselves deposited back on the main floor of the warehouse.  They approached Batman, who was walking towards the hostages.  Nightwing could tell that Batman was trying to keep a straight face at their condition.

“No luck,” the Caped Crusader asked.

“I don’t think we were meant to have any,” Nightwing replied.

“What’s really going on here,” Hood asked firmly, standing next to Nightwing.

Red Robin took a spot on the other side of Nightwing, and there was a soft clicking noise.  The three vigilantes had just enough time to look down before a spring-loaded section of the floor launched them into the brown, bubbling vat.  Fortunately for them, it wasn’t boiling oil.  Unfortunately for them, it was only the first layer of the trap.

Red Robin came up sputtering, and trailed a hand through the substance.  “Mashed potatoes and gravy?” He asked incredulously.

Red Hood shook his head, pulling his helmet off.  “It’s a good thing Thanksgiving isn’t for months.  It might be too traumatic at this point.”

Red Robin swam to the side of the vat, amazed that he could actually swim through mashed potatoes, and held on to the side.  He reached over the edge and pulled the bag off of the head of the nearest hostage, only to find another mannequin.

“Hey, Nightwing?  I think we’ve been had.”

“I know we have,” the elder replied.

Looking up, Red Robin saw Batman standing and staring at his sons.  In front of Batman stood Robin, with his arms crossed over his chest and a satisfied smirk on his shiny face.

Red Hood joined his brothers in hanging on to the edge of the vat, and said, “Hey, look, it’s Kojak the Boy Wonder.”

Batman snorted and shook his head as Robin said, “Now, we’re even.”

Nightwing sounded confused as he asked, “So, wait.  Did you actually miss an assignment?”

“Tt, of course not.”

“And, you weren’t really mad at him,” Red Robin asked Batman.

Batman rested a gauntleted hand on Robin’s shoulder.  “No.”

Nightwing continued, “And, you used all that extra time from when you were supposed to be confined to your room to plan all this?”

Robin gave a toothy grin and said, “From the moment you shaved my head, I started planning something.  It wasn’t until I spoke to Batman that the plan turned into something other than decapitation.”

The three vigilantes in the side dish looked at each other before giving a round of applause that sent a blush through their youngest brother’s cheeks.

They climbed out of the vat while Batman said, “Okay, I’m calling a cease prank.  Haven’t you all had enough of this?”

Nightwing smirked, “For this year.”

Batman shook his head, “Robin.”

The boy walked away and came back with a hose.  “What are you doing with that,” Red Robin asked, with a hint of nerves in his voice.

“Look at yourselves,” Batman said, “None of you are getting into my car, looking like that.”

Three heads looked down and nodded, agreeing that they were looking less than their best.  An evil grin crossed Robin’s face as he turned the hose on his elder brothers, who all shouted in shock as the cold water hit them.

 

**A/N:  Well, this is a change.  For once, I have a story centered around a specific calendar date that is actually done before the date arrives.  I guess planning ahead actually works sometimes.  This work is a commission, requested by reader Jacobra, so thanks for the idea.  Keep them coming, everyone.  I have a couple in the works, but I can always use more suggestions.  Like always, if I like it, I will use it and at the very least mention that it was your idea.**

**Thanks for playing along.**


End file.
